


Just

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Denial of Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Unhappy Ending, in which zolf goes for subtle and hamid thinks hes projecting so he just. Ignores It.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: 18- "We're not just friends and you fucking know it."





	Just

**Author's Note:**

> :))))))))))

Hamid does a lot of justifications, these days. 

(Oh, Zolf brushing his shoulder was just a hazard of walking so close together.)   
(Oh, Zolf taking his hand was just so that Hamid would stop drumming his fingers on the table.)   
(Oh, Zolf resting his head on Hamid’s was just because he was tired.) 

Hamid has to justify these things, or he might do something that oversteps some boundary he wasn’t aware of, and then he’d have to justify himself, and then he might legitimately die of embarrassment. So. He justifies it, and he explains it away, and he doesn’t think about it too much.

Hamid is bouncing his leg under the table, and Zolf puts a hand on his knee. (Just so that Hamid stops; it’s probably annoying him.) Hamid stops. Zolf’s hand stays where it is. Hamid’s need to move ratchets up a notch, (it’s just unfamiliar physical contact, that’s the only reason he needs to bounce or tap or fidget somehow) but he controls himself and ignores it. He also ignores the hand on his knee and starts up a conversation. He doesn’t look at Zolf.

Hamid makes some joke or another, and Zolf huffs a nearly-silent laugh. Hamid turns to look and looks away almost as quickly. (Zolf is just smiling at him like that because he’d finished laughing.) (Hamid is just blushing because—) Hamid finds a way to excuse himself quickly so that he doesn’t spend the rest of the night trying to see that smile again. (Hamid just likes being the centre of attention, is all. That’s the only reason he would want that.)

(Zolf keeps clenching his fists when someone brings up Hamid’s date with Madeleine because— just— he just doesn’t like the idea of getting too close to anyone who’s so connected with François Henri, in case of something bad happening, is all. Just that.)

(Hamid just feels angry about Oscar’s flirting because Zolf is so clearly uncomfortable. Angry. Not jealous. Not possessive. Just angry.)

Zolf snaps, “What the hell was that?” Bertie’s vanished off to who-knows-where, Sasha’s vanished to the roof, Zolf is only a foot away and Hamid is confusedly trying to increase that distance. (Hamid’s heart rate picks up. It’s just that he’s not a fan of confrontation.)

Hamid stammers, “What was what?” because he honestly doesn’t know. Did he overstep some boundary? (Hamid leaned into Zolf’s shoulder on the ride back from the train station because he was sad; he just wanted physical contact.) 

Hamid takes a step back, toward the door. Zolf takes a step forward, toward Hamid. “Your date,” he clarifies, “what was— why did you go on a date with the secretary?” Hamid splutters and stutter-stops over his sentences for a moment. (Zolf just— it’s just that— there’s _something._ There’s a _just,_ and it’s nothing like what Hamid is hoping— _thinking,_ just thinking, not hoping.)

Hamid manages, “Why wouldn’t I?” and it only sort of comes out like a squeak. 

Zolf looks hurt. (There’s a just. A conditional to that look, a justification for the pain, there has to be.) And then it shifts back into anger, and Hamid knows that Zolf wouldn’t hurt him, but he can’t help but flinch back when Zolf laughs. And it’s nothing like the warm laugh Zolf had rewarded him with before, this one is sour and twisted with bitterness. “Gods, Hamid. You could have just told me you weren’t interested. You didn’t have to go out and find—” 

_“Interested?”_ Hamid repeats, and this one _absolutely_ comes out like a squeak. (There has to be a just. A conditional.) _(Interested?)_ (No. No, Hamid isn’t that lucky, he needs to stop hoping for something so far-fetched.) “Zolf, I— I didn’t— I mean, we’re friends, I’m sure I don’t...” And you could hear a pin drop in the silence that Hamid leaves after that sentence. 

Because he does. 

(Because he’s sure he does, no matter how much he bites it back and justifies it and explains it away. Because he’s kept awake at night wishing a carefully-unnamed someone would fit into the space next to him. Because Zolf's hand takes his own and his stomach swarms with butterflies. Because Zolf's smile is directed at him and his face flushes the same red as his blazer. Because, because, _because.)_

Zolf isn’t close to him, now. Zolf has taken enough steps away from him that Hamid feels like he can breathe again. Hamid is expecting loud, expecting Zolf to shout and expecting some attendant or another to check that they’re doing alright. But it’s barely louder than a whisper when Zolf tells him, “We’re not just friends.” (A just. A conditional. It’s not the one Hamid was looking for.) Zolf doesn’t get closer. Zolf doesn’t look at him. Zolf says, in that same low tone that Hamid can only just hear, “And you fucking know it.”

Hamid doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t say anything when Zolf goes to his own room. He doesn’t say anything when Sasha’s mechanical man stops knocking and steps into its own little alcove. 

“I just thought you didn’t...” he whispers to the empty room.

He doesn’t quite know how to finish his justification.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer come send me prompts and i'll do my best to get back to you in a timely manner!!!


End file.
